The Pigs That Gibbs Slept On
by meowbooks
Summary: Yes, that's right,pigs.
1. The Pigs That Gibbs Slept On

**The Pigs That Gibbs Slept On**

I assure you we were minding our own business when it happened. We were wallowing in the mud, moonlight basking, rummaging through goods that ha been thrown on the street, snorting, laughing, having as good a time as possible for a pig.

Suddenly, a haggard, old man who smelled horribly of alcohol plopped himself in out midst. Understandably, we were quite astonished: the first inconsiderate act was bad enough, but he was snoring as well! We consulted one another as how best to find a suitable remedy to the situation. We had to be sure to do it in a mannerly way.

Despite what your opinion of pigs might be we can be civilized and very agreeable. Unfortunately the majority of our kind choose not to do so, this has led to the creation of insulting phrases such as "pigsty".

" We should roll him out of our place- as carefully as possible so as not to harm him!" Carl squealed. We told him in the politest way that he should consider what he had just said. He later came to the conclusion that rolling the poor man through the mud he would have to be rolled through was an absurd notion. Not to mention messy. Abigail had a much better idea:

"Let's wake him up!That way he can apologize for-erm- dropping in unexpectedly." We gave her grunts of approval and hastened to do so.

"Mr. Human, pardon me, but you're snoring very loudly." Clarence whispered in his ear.

"Sir? I'm sure you don't want to sleep in the mud." Charles said quietly.

" Sleeping on the ground can't possibly be very comfortable for you." Reasoned Beth.

" I don't mean to be rude, but perhaps you should take a bath!" Wallace said to the man, once again doing something incredibly stupid. Jack shook his head disapprovingly at the young pig.

" I say 'Don't do anything stupid!' Then you do that!" Jack exclaimed.

"We most certainly want this-him to be insulted! Have you no sense of propriety?" Weatherby chided him.

"You have much to learn!" Percivalscolded before turning to the human. "Sir- humans are not capable of understanding pigs why are we conversing with him?"

At that moment all polite admonishments to the unexpected visitor ceased. I must admit that fact had escaped me as well. We decided that extreme measures had to be taken we made as much noise as we possibly could. We squealed, squeaked, snorted, squished mud, but he would not wake. We feared we _would _have to roll him away.

Then we heard voices. Two men, one in leather tri-cornered hat and a younger one with brown hair, walked over with wooden buckets. The older one squinted at the sleeping figure and bent over him as if to make sure he was the person he had been looking for.

"_This_ is the man who knows the finest sailors in all of Tortuga?" The younger one said skeptically.

"Yeah." Said the other as if it shouldn't have surprised him. We stared up at the two men wondering why they were there. Then without a warning of any kind- they dumped water on us! We were stunned- what had we done? The sleeping visitor howled, and then calmed a bit as he realized who it was. Jack, for that is what he called the owner of the hat, said something like a riddle and pulled him to his feet. For some inexplicable reason water was tossed over him again.

We were glad he was gone, but you know he never did have sense enough to thank us for our hospitality…


	2. The Wig Wearer

**Disclaimer: **The pigs return for a much different tale about...

**The Wig Wearer**

I'll never comprehend why some people are so-so shall I say, _eccentric_. They have a peculiar habit of tossing their own into the streets, letting them snore something dreadful. Quite often they are not only loud, but disheveled and when they awake- bellicose.

Imagine if you will, turning around to find five or six of such strange humans in your favorite rum soaked mud puddle. It often disturbs pleasant mud wallowing, squishing, snorting, rolling and makes normal, quiet conversation near impossible.

I have often wondered why they don't toss clean, clear eyed, respectable people who are pictures of sobriety. We pigs would be more than delighted to share our mud and delectable garbage with them. Perhaps you could tell others. Let them know it's not that we don't enjoy having guests. We'd just rather they informed us prior to their visit.

Our most pleasant experience was a brief visit from The Wig Wearer and that was hardly the situation that you would call pleasant.

He wore a wig. It had to have been a fine wig once, alas no longer! White strands stuck up oddly, it didn't serve its purpose for dark brown hair showed through. The owner of the brown hair had been thrown quite rudely by the usual tavern occupants. He landed face first-which I must say is the worst way to enjoy rum puddles.

He lifted his face out of it and spat out the taste that had touched his lips.He had such wonderful green eyes. We pigs have often discussed the eyes of those we encounter. His were sad, deep circles had yet to trace them, evidence that he had fallen into Tortuga a short while ago.

"James Norrington, what has the world done to you?" The Wig Wearer slowly brought his gaze to find the voice. Recognition sparked a change in his eyes a flicker of something came to light, then was gone as he replied, "Nothing I didn't deserve…"

At that the young one who had come frowned. The returning look pondered the words of sorrow, words of a man much changed. She, for you see we could see past her disguise, helped him up on unsteady feet and they departed.


End file.
